


Fall On Your Knees

by dollylux



Series: Fic Advent Calendar 2014: Brothers, Soulmates, and Other Such Sexiness [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Head Injury, Hospitals, Injured Sam, M/M, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Snow and Ice, Weecest, Worried Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2720966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall On Your Knees

**Author's Note:**

> Day four of my fic advent calendar. Prompt: black ice.

1997

The high school isn’t that far from where they’re staying at the Edgeview Motel, but it’s far enough away that Dean makes Dad promise to go get Sam after school while he’s gone. It’s the one agreement Dean had gotten out of Dad before Dean had left town, off to investigate unexplained deaths near playgrounds a few towns over. Dad’s thigh-deep in his own case here in Clayton, too busy to go check it out himself. So Dean leaves, and Dad stays.

It’s the worst three days of Sam’s young life. Dad likes to make Sam clean the guns on a timer, likes to send him out into the bitter cold to run a few miles before school, likes to grill him about ghouls and restless spirits and his Latin, doesn’t ask Sam how school went or if he wants to go find the best burger in town or bring him books from the local used bookstore. None of the things that Dean just _does_ , has always done, and Sam realizes then how much he takes Dean for granted. How fucking much he misses him. 

He misses the sex, too, of course.

 

It’s the last day before Christmas break, fucking _finally_ , and Sam sits outside in the falling snow, his butt practically frozen to the sidewalk where he’s sitting, backpack in his lap, hood pulled up over his head. He’s been waiting for Dad for nearly an hour, and the school is absolutely deserted, everyone eager to get winter break started.

The sun is starting to set by the time Sam decides fuck it, he’s walking back to the motel. He tugs his backpack onto his shoulders, makes sure his hoodie is zipped all the way up, and sets off.

It’s days like this that he misses Dean so much it truly hurts, hates that he dropped out of school when he was so close to graduating. He doesn’t talk about why he dropped out, just stopped going, stopped getting up early in the morning with Sam, stopped brushing his teeth right beside him, shooting him flirty winks in the mirror, stopped just being there throughout the school day, a comforting presence in the hallway and out in the parking lot after a long, hellish day, waiting for Sam in that jacket with that smile on his face, that sweet smile that is just for Sam, always has been just for him.

The ice crunches under Sam’s shoes on the sidewalk, and he shoves his hands into his pockets, ducking his head against the snow that keeps falling heavier and heavier the further he walks. He wonders where Dean is, how the investigation’s going, when he’s coming home. It’s so close to Christmas, just a few more days, and they’d talked about--

He has a split second of complete awareness, of realizing exactly what’s about to happen and that he is utterly powerless in stopping it. His left foot slips in a patch of black ice, his hands buried in his pockets doing absolutely nothing to help him regain his balance. He falls straight back, all of it happening in under a second, his feet going straight out from under him and he lands prone on his back, his ass hitting the frozen sidewalk just a blink before the back of his head slams into it.

It all fades to black.

The next thing he knows, he’s blinking up at the thick grey sky, the snow falling straight down on his face now, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes and freezing his cheeks, his mouth. He’s terrified to move, every single tensing muscle in his body shooting a sharp spasm of pain all through him. He’s afraid the back of his head is bleeding, his skull busted and leaking brain matter all over the sidewalk. He’s afraid that he’s dying, that it’s all gonna end right here, alone and frozen on the side of the road in Clayton, Ohio, still technically a virgin.

“Sam!”

He tenses again, this time so hard that he whimpers, teeth gritting together hard as he tries to move, to sit up, to find the direction of Dad’s voice.

“Sammy, what happened!?”

Sam hears the rumble of the Impala then, the comforting, familiar chug of it, and when he sees Dad’s flushed face appear above his own, he’s mostly just relieved that he’ll at least die in the car.

“Put a towel down,” he mumbles, letting his eyes fall closed again. “Dean’ll kill me if I get my brain all over the upholstery.”

“Can you move?” Dad is crouched down beside him now, big, strong hands lifting Sam as gingerly as possible, one coming up to cradle the back of his neck, like Sam’s a baby again. Sam hurts all over, hurts too much to say anything, to try and pinpoint exactly where the pain is, to try and help in this at all. What does it matter? He’s gonna die anyway.

He gets bundled into the car, and the heat on his face feels amazing. He keeps his eyes closed while Dad drives, dozing a little as Dad apologizes over and over, tells him about talking to some old witch doctor about this or that or whatever, that he lost track of time, that he’d rushed straight over to the school as soon as he’d realized.

Blah blah blah, Sam’s gonna die. He’s gonna die because of a witch doctor and because his worn-ass Airwalks have shit traction.

“Dean,” he mumbles before letting the warm wave of sleep come over him, the pain too much to stay conscious through.

 

“--definitely has a severely bruised tailbone, but the CT scan came back clear on his head, so there’s no internal bleeding, as far as I can tell. There may be a slight fracture of the skull, but that’ll heal with time. Basically, he’s probably sore as hell, and he’s going to feel a little wobbly for a few days. I’ve given him a pretty good dose of Tylenol and codeine that should have him feeling pretty happy when he wakes up.”

“Am I dead?” Sam doesn’t open his eyes because he knows somewhere in his big smart injured brain that the lights overhead are too bright and will probably make him puke. He hears a warm, unfamiliar laugh, and he realizes then that it’s coming from the doctor, the guy rambling about fractures and bleeding and drugs.

“How ya feelin’, buddy?” He feels Dad’s hand on the top of his head, and he winces, waiting for it to hurt, and he relaxes when it doesn’t. Huh. Codeine must be pretty awesome.

“Dean,” he says softly, turning on the stiff mattress to curl up on his side, taking the still aching pressure off of his tailbone.

“I, uh. I called him. When they had you upstairs for scans.” Dad sounds chastised, almost like he’s nervous, and Sam wishes he had the energy to open his eyes because he’d totally love to see that. “He left right then. He should be here in twenty minutes or so.”

“He better not be speeding,” Sam mumbles, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders and burrowing the cold tip of his nose against the scratchy fabric. “It’s snowing.”

“You two,” Dad sighs, finally taking his hand back, and Sam can tell by the particular silence that Dad is shaking his head. “I don’t know what good it does you that you spend all your time worrying about each other. If two people spend all their time just trying to make sure the other one doesn’t fall, sooner or later they’re both just gonna fall at the same time.”

Sam doesn’t really follow the weird logic there, but he doesn’t think that falling with Dean sounds all that bad.

“At least we’ll fall together.”

He pulls the covers up even more, hiding everything but the top of his head beneath them. Maybe if he pretends to go to sleep, Dad’ll go away.

He accidentally, really falls asleep, but at least Dad does go away.

 

“WHERE IS HE?!”

“Dean, goddamnit. We’re in a hospital! Will you at least try--”

“How could you let this happen, Dad? I told you to watch him! I told you to go get him! I told you it was going to be fucking dangerous out there and I didn’t want him walking home in this weather!”

Sam’s eyes open underneath the covers, his hands twisted up in them. The fury, the worry in Dean’s voice, has his heart pounding.

“You watch your tone with me, you got that, son? Listen, accidents happen. This could’ve happened--”

“What room is he in?”

“Are you gonna calm down?”

“Not until I see him myself! And I want to talk to the doctor. Which room?” Dean is practically snarling, and Sam can hear the low husk of his growl from all the way down the hall.

“Dean?” he manages to croak from under his blankets before he gets the sense to pull them down, to raise his voice a little. “Dean?”

“Sammy!” Movement, a rustle of clothes and a scuff of boots and Sam opens his eyes just as Dean bursts into his room, rage making his eyes bright, frighteningly clear, but he falters when he sees Sam, when their eyes meet, and Sam is so overjoyed to see him that he smiles.

“Hey.”

“Shit, Sammy.” There’s a sudden, unexpected blur of tears glistening in Dean’s eyes as he hurries across the room and sinks down to his knees beside Sam’s bed, one big, chilly hand cupping Sam’s cheek, touching him like Sam could shatter against his palm. “ _Sammy._ ”

“I’m okay,” he reassures him, reaching up to lay his hand over top Dean’s, stroking over his knuckles, over the wide moons of his fingernails. “They gave me some painkiller stuff and I don’t feel anything right now. Anything. Like, _anything._ ”

Dean searches his eyes, finally just giving a shake of his head before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Sam’s eyebrow, keeping his mouth there as he speaks softly, his voice just loud enough for Sam.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you. Knew I shouldn’t have gone. Don’t like bein’ away from you. God, when I got that call, Sammy. When he told me--”

“I’m okay,” Sam tells him again, whispering now, feeling so safe with Dean so close, so warm and so _right here._ “I promise I’m okay.”

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean pulls away just as the doctor comes into the room, Dad hot on his heels, and Sam groans, wanting to tell them to go the fuck away, that he was about to get at least a little something after being away from his brother for three agonizing days.

The doctor rattles off the same shit he’d said to Dad earlier, and Sam tries to be good, he really does, tries to pretend he’s not annoyed that he’s being talked about like he’s not here, that there are two people too many in this room, but it doesn’t last too long.

He blames the drugs in his system on the fact that the next words out of his mouth are, “Dean, will you make them leave so you can come back over here and kiss me? I missed you.”

There’s an eerie, loaded silence that follows, the kind of silence that trips over itself as the people sharing it try to come up with an explanation for what the fuck just happened, and in that silence is when Sam realizes he’d just said that shit out loud.

Fuck.

Dean recovers first, laughing hysterically, like Sam had just perfectly recounted a Richard Pryor joke, and the doctor follows suit, his own laugh a little weaker, less convincing.

“Poor Sammy,” Dean sighs, reaching over to pat Sam on the head like he’s a senile dog. “Thinks I’m his little girlfriend or something. See, Dad. I told you he’s been dropped on his head too many times. Think this time might’ve pushed him over the edge.”

Sam cracks an eye open, watching the confused worry melt off of Dad’s face, smooth out into disapproval for Dean making jokes about the state of Sam’s concussed, stupid head, arms folding over his broad chest as he sighs.

“Leave him alone, Dean. He’s had a long day. Stay in here and make sure he doesn’t roll out of bed or something. I’m gonna go get him checked out and pull the car around.”

Dad and the doctor leave, and Sam and Dean sigh at the same time, Dean turning around and fixing Sam with an exasperated smirk.

“What the hell were you tryin’ to do, you exhibitionist little shit? Get me in trouble? Huh?” Dean’s not too mad because he’s back beside Sam, a hand pushing up into his sweaty hair as he catches Sam’s mouth in a firm, hungry kiss, one that makes the darkness behind Sam’s closed eyes go all starry again, just like it had when he’d hit his head.

He touches the tip of his tongue to the plush seam of Dean's lips and lets Dean lick into his mouth, lets those perfect teeth sink into his bottom lip. He hums a contented sigh right into Dean’s mouth, smiling dreamily by the time Dean ends the kiss and pulls back, staying close enough to keep petting through his thick hair but far enough away that he doesn’t look like he’s been making out with his kid brother in a hospital bed.

“Missed you,” Sam repeats, licking his slick lips as he snuggles back down into the bed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be home for Christmas.”

“You kiddin’ me? ‘Course I was gonna be home in time for Christmas. I’ve got hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and _Ernest Saves Christmas_ in a Walmart bag in the car. We’re not leaving the bed the whole day. Just you and me, got it?”

“You and me,” Sam echoes, sleep catching him and tugging him under again, and he swears he can feel every single hair on his head that Dean’s hand touches before he’s out again.

He’s vaguely awake a few minutes later when he feels himself lifted from the bed, Dean’s smell as close and familiar as the hands on him while Dean carries him through the hospital and out to the car. Sam doesn’t tense, doesn’t worry for a single second, just wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and snuggles down against his chest, falling back asleep.

Dean’ll always be there when he falls.


End file.
